Lori Wilde - Stop The Wedding! - Night Driving / Smooth Sailing / Crash Landing

“And you’re uptight. Relax, Boone. The world isn’t going to come to an end if you have a good laugh at yourself.” She winked.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. For one thing, she was just so damned bewitching with that cocky little grin and rocking hot body. His hand itched to draw her close again, to run his fingers through her hair, tilt her head back and plant rough kisses along that long, slender neck. The caveman in him wanted to do much more than that. A dozen erotic images passed through his head.

The woman was a knockout. Slender, but not skinny. Long-legged. Breasts that were the stuff of dreams. Her blond hair was tousled, falling over her shoulders in a sexy tangle. She had skin the color of a ripe peach—honey-hued and golden—eyes the color of the Montana sky, full lips, a playful chin, sassy cheekbones. The way she spoke was light and airy, as if she lived in a bouncy-house castle made of clouds.

Her frisky pink tongue flicked out to skim nervously over her femme fatale lips.

Friggin’ hell, he was in trouble here. His heart punched against his chest and a dull roar filled his ears.

His arms wrapped around her even as his mind yelled, No, no, don’t do it .

Tara didn’t resist, not the least little bit, as he pulled her flush against his chest until he could feel the rhythm of her throbbing heartbeat matching his own.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t seem at all scared or unnerved by his proprietary action.

What was he doing? It was dumb. It was a mistake. He knew it, but the feel of her in his arms, soft and pliant, was his undoing. Confusion settled inside him, but rising up to take its place was a dark, dangerous heat and the stunning realization of just how much he wanted her.

His gaze fixed on her mouth.

Her trembling lips parted.

He was quickly losing what was left of his selfcontrol.

His face was inches from hers. He peered into her eyes, lost as a dingy in a squall. A taut, jolting look passed from him to her and back again. He realized for the first time that she had her hands around his biceps and was holding on tightly. To keep him from coming any closer? Or to encourage it?

The night breeze blew coolly against his heated skin and for a long while, they just stood there, frozen in time. The make-or-break moment. Would he be strong enough to stop this and walk away before he did something he would regret?

He could feel her warm breath against his chin, hear the rapid rising and falling of her chest. He was aware of everything about her. She was so sexy. He’d been resisting her allure for weeks, hell, months even. Trying to convince himself that hooking up with her would be a bad thing.

His body didn’t care about reasons or excuses. It was too late for either. His primal brain was issuing a message he was helpless to resist or deny.

His arms tightened around her.

She went up on tiptoes and leaned into him.

Turn back. Turn back. It’s still not too late. Just let her go. Move away .

But damn his hide, he did not let her go. He did not turn away. He did not walk off. Instead, Boone did what he’d been struggling hard not to do for the past two days.

He kissed her.

Wednesday, July 1, 9:00 p.m .

TARA BIT HIM.

Not hard, just a simple back-off-buster pinch of her teeth against the firm flesh of his bottom lip. It was a simple warning—as much for herself as for him—nothing more.

But instead of being warned off, a low laugh rolled from his throat, deep and masculine and delighted.

A flicker of panic ran through her. Not because she was scared or offended, but because the secret little fantasy she’d been indulging about her across-the-street neighbor was coming true.

He speared his good knee between her legs, pressed it against the U-Haul, effectively pinning her in place. She tried to rationalize that he was doing the maneuver to stabilize his weak leg, but still, she couldn’t help feeling captured by him. She couldn’t move with her legs on either side of his thigh. His hand held the back of her head, his fingers threaded through her hair. She couldn’t have run away if she’d wanted to do so.

It turned her on in ways she’d never dreamed possible. Instantly, her body was wanting and ready.

Boone stared into her eyes. Stared into her . No nonsense. Manly. Tough. Take-no-prisoners.

Instantly, they both reacted, attacking each other’s mouths like starving people let loose on an all-you-can-eat buffet, nothing subtle or timid about the approach. They kissed with gusto and verve.

Tara found herself clinging to him, pushing against him, getting as close as she could get without being joined to him. Pure sensation overpowered her. Hard, driving desire overwhelmed her. Every rational thought Tara possessed flew right out of her head. Bowled over by his raw animal magnetism, by the fiery tingling of her nerve endings and the intensity of his body heat, she wanted nothing more than to sink down on the hard-packed roadbed, make love to him and damn the consequences.

He was experiencing the same thing she was. She could feel it in his body, in his hot, fierce kisses.

Until this road trip, she’d thought her feelings for Boone were one-sided. She liked him, but he wasn’t crazy about her. But now, the desperately hungry way he explored her mouth told her that he was just as lost as she. Marooned. They were marooned together on this tidal wave of stark, relentless need.

His tongue slid against hers, demanding and yet at the same time strangely gentle. She could feel the pressure of his swollen sex pressing against her belly as he leaned into her, the hard metal of the trailer cool against her back.

He nuzzled her neck at the same time his hands coasted down her body. His palms found her breasts. Her nipples peaked and his thumbs strummed over them, stirring the treacherous feelings churning inside her.

Desperate, wondrous yearning unfurled in the pit of her stomach, spiraling low and heavy, making her body quiver and her knees weaken. If his legs were as unsteady as hers, she had no idea how he remained standing. If he wasn’t holding her up, she’d collapse. How was it that he was strong and stable in light of his injury?

The next thing she knew, his hand had slipped up under the hem of her dress, slid up her thigh. His warm, nimble lips still had control of her mouth as his bold hand caressed her heated skin.

His kisses alternated between bold and tender, sweet and salty. Kissing him was like eating a gourmet meal at a five-star restaurant. With the tip of his tongue, he explored—outlining the contours of her mouth, touching the sensitive area right below her ear that made her shiver uncontrollably.

It felt so good. This runaway lust was tempting and exquisitely dangerous, but she knew she had to stop it and stop it now, before she made a foolish mistake. She opened her mouth to tell him just that, but then he cupped her face between his palms and coaxed her tongue to come out and duel with his.

And for another long, blissful moment she was lost again.

A mournful howl echoed over the cornfields, followed by yipping noises that raised the hairs on Tara’s arms.

Coyotes.

Reality shattered the moment. Common sense returned. They weren’t near a bed. Boone had a bum leg. She was moving to Miami. He lived in Bozeman. There was no way this could ever mean anything other than sex.

What’s wrong with just sex?

Nothing. Nothing at all. Except…

Tara feared that one time with Boone would never, ever be enough. Better never to eat the tempting cheesecake than take a small bite that led to gobbling the entire thing. With him, it was all or nothing.